Friday, April 24, 2009

Fundamentals of Engineering. Tomorrow morning at seven I will be sitting in on the exam, the eight hour exam. When all I want is to be elsewhere.

I have been studying for this test all semester, with much hair pulling and eye straining. Passing or failing this test affects whether I qualify to become an engineering intern and getting licensed. So right now I'm a bit nervous and shaky. With sweaty palms.

All the while, my Demon came home tonight and I am stuck 150 miles away from him. Three weeks I've waited to see him, being separated by a country, and now he's home, and I still can't see him because of this test and my obligations.

This is what confuses me about life. I really don't understand the purpose of doing things i don't like or enjoy just because I have to. Or am obligated to. And I wonder if this is even worth it. I keep putting off a career in writing to finish this degree. Will I even use this degree? I'm too much of a chicken to just quit. Although that would make me really happy.

I keep waiting for life to start it seems. But I'm in it; I'm living it.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Candles drip wax around the entire room, their scent perfuming the air, the flickering lights casting shadows on every surface. The bed beckons... as does the wall, the desk, the floor, and later the shower...

Only one thing is missing.

The intensity of your look as I undress before you, the gruff way you push me around and down, the hardness of your kiss...

Time is relative. And anyone who argues that point I will blatantly ignore. These past three weeks have c-r-e-p-t by. And I know as soon as I pull into his driveway Saturday night everything will turn into light speed somehow.

I'm cynical. Very cynical. Love is a thing tangled with legend and myth. I've been married and divorced. I've seen someone who swore their undying love for me, to care for me and be there for me, completely break every promise. He was there. And that was about it. There was no love, no caring, no tenderness, no understanding, no communication.

I've had other guys say they love me, that they will always love me. At first I would believe it, but everyone always lets you down. So my cynicism has grown now to an unbelievable level. I have many many shields around me, to protect me; I don't like people getting too close.

After my divorce, I swore never to fall in love with someone again. I would care for other people. But there would never ever be a relationship worth my time or effort. And I refused to do it. I was going to flippantly fuck around, and enjoy the hell out of myself.

But him. He's so damn different.

Initially, I was just looking to have a good time. And we had been friends for years, with many great memories. I've always been attracted to him. I just never assumed I could be one of the girls he told me about being with.

So we started dating. And I felt a nick in my armor start to form. Just for him. It scared the hell out of me. My heart was wanting to open up and be honest with another human being. My heart wanted to love. I just wanted it to stop. And so I was not as warm as I should have been at first. But that damn nick kept growing.

And one night I woke up, and I watched him sleep. He was so peaceful and at rest. And I felt something I have never ever felt before. I still don't know what to call that emotion. But I felt my eyes prick. Thankfully, he awoke just enough to wrap his arm around me, pull me so tight I could barely breathe, and kiss my forehead. I went back to sleep in wonder.

I'm still a cynic. I'll always be a cynic. I am not one to trust openly and blindly. I doubt I ever will be. But he has broken down my shields. And I'm scared. But I'm also so very happy.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

I awoke this morning, like any other day, with a lingering feeling I had some obligation to fulfill. I pulled out my calendar, and sure enough, I have an appointment at 10:30.

With the gynecologist.

Ugh.

If you are a female reading this, you know the pain of which I speak. Its such a weird feeling, although I'm way past the humiliating point of it, to have someone right there and having a conversation about her nephew's upcoming graduation and career goals.

So I go to the office. They do all the normal stuff, load me up with birth control, condoms, ask me if I take multi-vitamins, calcium, do I smoke, they weigh me (which I hate the most really). Then I'm showed to the room in the back.

Sigh. I undress, putting on the paper vest and skirt, all the while the doctor is chatting me up. Then she walks in, still talking, and pushes me back on the examining table, opening my vest and palpitating my boobs.

Which I don't mind. Its kind of like a strange massage. So I close my eyes and enjoy it, while we chat away about mundane things. Then she pops the table up (boobs are lump free by the way) and throws up the stirrups.

My vag is open to the air. I'm a shaver, so its really cold down there now.Then, all the poking and prodding, sample taking, finger insertion to feel the uterus etc...

Then the weirdest thing of all... Its never happened to me before in the 6 years I've been going...

"You have a perfectly formed vagina and vulva. I could teach a class with it."

Monday, April 20, 2009

Following will be series of questions and my answers to said questions. I will do my best to be honest. But I can't promise anything; I am not even honest to my therapist. Just my dear Demon. Who comes home this weekend for a few days, so you better believe I will be M.I.A. from the blogosphere.

But until that time, I am all yours sweet oblivion and darkness...

So, let's begin...

1. WHAT ARE YOU WEARING? What a dirty, dirty question. I love it... Right now I'm wearing my Demon's hoodie, hair pulled into a pony tail, no pants, socks, or shoes. Sitting with my knees pulled to my chest in my computer chair. Too much?

2. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEARN TO DO? Interesting question. I never really think about what I want to learn to do until I'm faced with something that makes me feel inadequate... I suppose currently I'd really like to learn to weld. Dad keeps promising to show me, but we just haven't made the time yet.

3. WHAT DID YOU HAVE FOR DINNER? Asking a girl with an eating disorder what she ate for dinner? Alright, I feel like being honest right now. I ate a scoop of peanut butter and a glass of water.

4. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT? I bought a Bible for my Demon. He's going to love it. In a weird sort of way. Perhaps not conventionally.

5. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? "Add It Up" by The Violent Femmes. Excellent band if you like punk.

6. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE WEATHER? Cloudy and overcast. A slight drizzle of rain. A whisper of wind from time to time. And nothing above 65 degrees.

7. WHAT IS ON YOUR BEDSIDE TABLE? Well... currently a personal massager...But also, my alarm clock, the only lamp I've ever liked, my broken glasses, my contact case, a picture of my Demon and of my papa, a pad of paper with scribbles and a pen.

8. WHAT IS THE SMALLEST GESTURE THAT MAKES YOU HAPPY? When someone close to me says my name. Its so personal. Think about it, how often do the people who know you say your name as they talk to you?

9. WHICH ACTOR/ACTRESS DO YOU THINK IS SIMILAR TO YOU? I will revert to my gay best friend and lover's husband for this question. As we sat on the couch one day, my head in his lap as he covered my neck with henna paint, he commented, "You know, you're like the perfect mix between Angelina Jolie, Michelle Pfeiffer, and Diane Lane."Sure, why not? My dad calls me Angie on occasion because he thinks I look like Angelina at times. I don't see it, but whatever.

10. WHAT IS YOUR MOST CHALLENGING GOAL RIGHT NOW? Most challenging... not being stagnant. Not throwing everything away just because I'm losing touch with reality and my motivation drops to nothing.

11. WHAT IS A FASHION STYLE YOU CAN'T STAND? Girls with things written on their asses, and guys with popped collars or extremely baggy clothes. Is it actually sexy to wear XXL if you are a M? I just assume you're retarded.

13. NAME THE THINGS YOU CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT: Paper and pen. And a buckeye.

14. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO GET RID OF? All of my worldly possessions and ties.

15. IF YOU COULD GO ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD RIGHT NOW, WHERE WOULD YOU GO? Pearl, love, you read my mind. I would love to be in Italy, walking around, seeing the sights, setting up a residence... then... I want to see everywhere.

16. WHAT LANGUAGE DO YOU WANT TO LEARN? Italian, German, Spanish, ... all of them to a point?

17. WHAT QUALITIES DO YOU DISLIKE MOST IN A PERSON? Being fake and fickle.

18. WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU ARE NERVOUS? I substituted this oneI am a fidgeter with an oral fixation. Sitting still isn't my strong point. Whenever I get agitated or nervous, I must fiddle with something. And I have never, ever, ever been able to leave a label on my beer bottles. So at a table, you can always tell which one is mine.

19. WHAT IS YOUR ALL TIME FAVORITE MOVIE? This is difficult. It so depends on my moods. The Big Lebowski, The Hours, Evil Dead, and Reservoir Dogs. So I refuse to choose one. But those are a good list.

20. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE QUALITY ABOUT YOURSELF? I love that I sit quietly and watch all those around me. And I love that after watching those people long enough, I know exactly how to act and what to say to make them like me and to pretend I'm having fun.

21. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE QUOTE OR SAYING? My end is my beginning. Within myself, I am complete.

Oh also...

"Ride that fear! Ride it like a skeleton horse through the gates of hell!"

22. WHAT IS ONE RANDOM FACT ABOUT YOURSELF? I can't for the life of me ride a bike. I have a scar on the back of my left leg from a stationary bike incident.

I was three years old the first time I took an innocent life. The kitten was crippled, front legs twisted cruelly by God, barely able to walk. First it was cheated by God. Then it was cheated by me.

The rest of the kittens, his brothers and sisters, were running outside to play in the sunshine. He was staying back, not able to move, laying like a lump on the bed of old towels his mother had made for him. It was sad. It wasn't fair. I chose to move him.

In a three year old's mind, it was simple enough. Put the kitty in a jar. Carry him outside. Lay him in the sunshine. All those things were accomplished. But apparently, I was too forceful in putting "Kitty" in the jar. I crushed him. His skull and fragile rib cage. When I poured him from the mason jar, he didn't move. His eyes were blank and staring. And I knew something was wrong.

Parents are strange. They all try their best to raise healthy happy children. And death is a learning experience that everyone must understand. A year before, my father's dad had passed from cancer. I remember seeing him in the coffin, his waxy face, his wooden looking hands, his eyes closed tightly. Dad had me on his hip so I could look at my dead grandfather, so I could touch him and understand. I asked when he would wake up. Why were we watching him sleep? Why were we closing him in that box, putting him underground? Would you do that to me if I slept for too long?

I didn't reach the appropriate level of understanding with that experience.

Mom sat me on the porch and asked me if I meant to hurt Kitty.

No, was kitty hurt?

Yes, kitty is dead. Dead like grandpa was, is.

My three year old brain could not comprehend. So mother brought out kitty. Placed him on my lap.

"Does a living cat act like this?" I looked at the cat. No, a living kitten would be moving and playing if its eyes were open. And even if it was sleeping, it would be curled in a ball, stomach rising and falling softly, not stretched and caved in and rigid like the fur, flesh, and bone on my lap now. I shook my head.

"Mandy, this is a dead cat. When you shoved it in the jar, you killed it, you smashed it. Living things are delicate, and you can kill them easily, especially if you are too rough with them. Kitty isn't alive anymore. But nothing lives forever. Kitty would have died eventually, just like grandpa did."

Everything clicked in a moment. I was alive. My grandfather had been alive. This cat had been alive. My grandfather was dead. The cat was dead. I still lived. But I could die. And I would die.

I cradled my victim in my hands, looking at my mother for the first time through our exchange. I was thinking, wondering, but too afraid to speak.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Stagnation. A disease. A fucking disease. It envelopes your soul, if you have a soul, and rots you from the inside out. Perhaps the outside in. Because there is always that tiny bit inside that seems to stay alive, no matter what I do or where I go. I've tried to silence it more than once. I've tried to pretend it didn't matter, but that little piece refused to go under. I hated it, but I was thankful. I'm still alive because of that little piece.

But now I begin to rot.

There is always something else, always some dream, one dream, that I want to own completely. And sometimes I pull it close, I can taste it. Other times, it slips away quietly, like a cat off your lap as you fall asleep, and the only thing you notice is the sudden absence of warmth and comfort.

I woke up. My lap is frozen.

The sun is gone today. It is dark, so dark. Yet the birds still sing. They should be silent. I love days like today. They make me pensive and all I want to do is to walk outside in the grass barefoot and happy.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

"No." She cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder, listening to her mother talking incessantly about things that mattered to no one.

"I'm just saying, sweetie, it would be nice to have you around more often. We can, well, monitor you better. Watch your condition."

"My condition is fine. I think I'm just going to hang around here for awhile." As she spoke, only half listening, she shoved random clothes into her backpack.

"Well, maybe all of us can come up to see you. You know, the entire family." That is the last fucking thing I need, she thought.

"No, mom. Really. I just need some peace and quiet." Her dog looked up at her, tilting her head inquisitively as her owner continued packing her necessary belongings.

"Alright, honey. But I wish you would call more. It's like we never hear from you anymore..." Her tears had dried on her cheeks already, forcing herself to stop when her mother called. She just needed to get out for awhile. For a long while.

"I will. Goodnight." She clicked the phone shut, not waiting for a never ending goodbye speech. Opening up the bottom drawer of the jewelry box her grandfather made her, she removed the four things she could never part with. They were placed gently in the outside pocket of her bag, then she wrapped tissue paper around them.

The plane ticket was on the bed. She was going. She was leaving. She was telling no one. It was what she always wanted.

Adventure was hers.

As she closed her apartment door and locked it, she never even looked back.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

When moving from your bed, to the toilet, back to the bed completely wipes you out... It's just time to give up. Saturday night it started: a slight fever and a cough. Then it worsened and developed into a hacking phlegm fest punctuated by aching muscles, more fever, sore throat, and itchy eyes. I've never actually had itchy eyes before. But honestly, itchy eyes.

I lay in bed all day Sunday and most of Monday. Today I ventured out a little further, but I'm about to hop right back into bed with my little doggie for warmth.

But last night... dear God...

As most of you know, I'm on medication for depression. With this medicine, I am not supposed to take Sudafed or Dayquil type medicines. Anything that talks about MAOI's. So I had taken one dayquil around five that evening, hoping for some relief and ability to breathe, then drank almost a half a cup of cough syrup. Nothing was working. All I wanted was sleep. So I began rummaging through my baskets of medicine, looking for anything that even remotely mentioned the words "PM".

My room mate emerged from his room with a box of pills. I wasn't even listening, I just held out my hand. I downed the two pills and went back to my room, tissues and chloraseptic in hand.

Then I began to feel a little... funny...

Just like the couple times I had experimented with some herbal supplements.

I texted my room mate (honest to God I thought I walked into his room and talked to him) and asked what he had given me.

"Sudafed."

Crap.

My blood pressure sored. I began to hallucinate. I was talking to people on my phone (I think) but thought they were in my room. It was an interesting night. Finally around 3 AM, everything wore off, and I was left with a pounding headache.

I am feeling better, but still a little out of it.

For instance, this post took MUCH longer than necessary to publish because... well... Somehow I managed to lock myself out of my room.

Monday, April 13, 2009

I'm not one to gush over people who have a bit of "fame." In fact, I'm usually annoyed at people who do so. But I will indulge myself this one time with a very recent encounter I had with a Knox celeb.

So, I had been hanging out with my Russian princess all night and her friend, Aaron, who I had only met the night before. Long story short, I locked my purse in a friend's car who left early, so Aaron had to take me home.

We stopped by his apartment for a moment to grab a drink and some food, and on our way out he asks if I would like to meet his neighbor, Mac.

Sure, why not, I like meeting new people.

We knock on the door, step inside, and who is sitting on the couch? None other than Mac Comer. His neighbor is Mac Comer? Holy Crap.

I, unfortunately, had a couple of drinks that night, and although I attempted to be nonchalant, I am quite sure I failed horribly.

I mean, come on, it was Mac Comer! I have gone to see this guy play in and about all areas of Knoxville. He is a very gifted musician, and I love his songs. It's not often you open a door and see someone who you've only seen on a stage, with a guitar.

I'm still swooning a bit. He even gave me two CD's, which I have been playing almost nonstop. I know, its shameful. And most of you are probably displeased with your Lenina. But come on. It was Mac Comer!

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

You would have been 79 today. I can still see your blue eyes twinkling with every laugh. They aren't really even blue though. They are a steely grey with shoots of blue running through them. I can feel your tanned arms hugging me tightly and your bigger than life hands holding onto mine.

Your hands... they always mesmerized me. They were enormous, rough, and did all of these things that seemed impossible. But yet, any time I got hurt or was sad, they became so gentle.I remember them clapping to the beat of the music in church. I remember them softly stroking my hair as I fell asleep in your lap. I remember the way they felt the day you died. I remember holding onto them and willing you to come back to me.

Do you remember this day last year? You were getting worse. But it was your birthday, so I went and got your favorite burgers and your favorite milk shake, and we had dinner. You got tired early and confused, so I left giving you a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug, smelling in your aftershave and wishing I could keep you forever.

The call came that night. "Papa may be having a stroke. We've called the ambulance."

I rushed to your house, and watched them put you in the back of the truck. The flashing red lights seemed unreal in front of your house, out of place. They closed the doors and drove off, then the rest of us jumped in our cars and followed. But I hit my knees as they left, still hearing the sirens. And I cried.I knew you would never come home.

Today is your birthday. Mom called already, to remind me. Remind me? I would never forget today. Remember when I was four, and we went to celebrate your birthday? I wanted the waiters to sing to me, too. So you pulled me into your lap, and told everybody today was my birthday. And every year since then, we would exchange small presents, for our "matching" birthday.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

These guys will be 7 weeks old this Friday, and are definitely ready to find their homes. Because of the vet bill when they were born, I have to charge $300 for each pup though. The mom is my four pound black, grey, and white CKC registered Chihuahua. The father is a 10 lb. red CKC registered Dachshund. Both parents have amazing personalities and these puppies are spoiled already.

Lilith is the Red girl with looks perfectly mixed between the Dachshund and Chihuahua. She is very brave and loves to scamper about and get into trouble. She's very much like a kitten in that way.

Beelz is a Black and Tan who looks exactly like a mini Dachshund. He is also mischievious, and his tail never stops wagging. He loves to cuddle.

Legion is the second Black and Tan boy. He is basically a little Chihuahua. His temperament is so laid back and relaxed. While the other two fight and play, he is content to lie on his back and sleep. He is definitely a lap dog.

It kills me to find them homes, but I just cannot have four dogs right now. And my bill at the vets for the C-section is looming.

This Is Me

A sequel, a continuation of a blog I started long ago that ended abruptly. God knows what you will find here. I write short stories, I write about my life, I give my opinions freely about the world around me. It'll be like South Park - anything goes. And just as satirical.